Page 37 of Betrayal and Vows (Bratva Vows #2)

He grins at me as he looks at the unconscious Lev. “Did you do that, you little tiger?”

“I didn’t knock him out but I did break his nose.”

“Good girl.”

He cuts through my zip ties with a knife, his hands surprisingly gentle.

"Come on," he says, helping me out of the van. "Let's get you out of here. Anton is not going to be happy with this."

Bodies litter the ground around us.

"Anton," I gasp as he guides me toward a waiting SUV. "Where's Anton? Is he?—"

"Hospital," Dmitri says tersely, not meeting my eyes. "We need to get there. Now."

The non-answer makes my blood freeze. "Dmitri, please. Is he alive?"

His usual playfulness fades.

"It's not good, Lena." His jaw tightens as he helps me into the passenger seat. "But he's breathing. That's something."

A man I don't recognize sits behind the wheel—dark hair, serious face, wearing tactical gear. He nods at me briefly.

"Maxsim," Dmitri says by way of introduction as he slides into the back seat. "He's with us."

Maxsim guns the engine. We tear through Moscow streets like demons are chasing us. Maybe they are.

I press my hand to my stomach again, this tiny life inside me the only thing keeping me from completely falling apart.

Anton has to live. He has to meet his child. He has to know that despite everything, something beautiful came from all this darkness.

"How bad?" I whisper.

Dmitri's reflection in the side mirror looks grim. "Bad enough. But Anton's too stubborn to die. Trust me—I've seen him survive worse."

I want to believe him. I have to believe him.

Because the alternative is a world without Anton in it.

And that's not a world I know how to survive.

The fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor burn my eyes as we rush through automatic doors. Everything smells like disinfectant and death. My legs feel like they might give out at any moment.

"Ma'am, you need to be checked out," a nurse intercepts us, her eyes taking in my torn clothes and the blood—Anton's blood—still staining my shirt. "You've clearly been through trauma?—"

"No." I push past her, scanning the hallway frantically. "Where is he? Where's Anton?"

"Ma'am, please, let us examine you first?—"

"I said no!" My voice cracks like a whip through the sterile air. "I need to see him now!"

Dmitri steps between me and the persistent nurse. "She's not leaving until she sees him. Don't waste your time arguing."

The nurse looks like she wants to protest, but something in Dmitri's expression stops her. She sighs, defeated. "Down the hall. But the doctors are still working?—"

I'm already running.

My feet slap against the linoleum as I race down the corridor, Dmitri's footsteps echoing behind me. And then I see it.

A nurse runs in carrying two bags of blood just as another one runs out.

I can feel their urgency. Feel their concern.

I burst through the door and the world tilts sideways.

Anton lies motionless on the hospital bed, his skin gray as ash. Doctors and nurses surround him, their hands moving frantically over his chest. One of them pumps rhythmically—CPR—while another charges paddles.

The monitor beside his bed emits one long, unbroken tone.

Flatline.

"Clear!"

His body jerks as electricity shoots through him, but the line stays flat. That horrible, endless beep continues.

"Anton!" The scream tears from my throat so violently it feels like it's shredding my vocal cords. "Anton, come back to me! Please!"

I lunge forward, but hands catch me, holding me back. "No, let me—he needs to hear me—Anton!"

"Again," the doctor orders. "Clear!"

Another jolt. Another terrible stillness.

The beep continues.

"Anton, please," I sob, struggling against whoever is holding me. "Don't leave me. Don't you dare leave me!"

But he doesn't move. Doesn't breathe. The monitor's accusation fills the room.

He's gone. He's gone. He's gone.

My knees buckle. The fluorescent lights spin overhead, and darkness swallows everything.

I wake to unfamiliar ceiling tiles and the steady beep of machines. For one blessed moment, I don't remember. Then it all crashes back—the warehouse, the blood, that horrible flatline sound.

"Anton," I whisper, my throat raw.

"Hey." A gentle voice draws my attention. Maxsim sits in a chair beside my bed, his dark eyes filled with something that looks like pity. "You're awake."

I try to sit up, but my body feels like it's made of lead. "Where's Dmitri?"

"Getting coffee. He'll be back soon."

My heart hammers against my ribs. "And Anton? How is?—"

But Maxsim's expression tells me everything I need to know. His eyes drop to his hands, his jaw tightening with the weight of words he doesn't want to say.

The sob that escapes me sounds like a wounded animal. "No. No, he can't be?—"

Hot tears stream down my face as the truth settles like a stone in my chest. Anton is dead. The man I love, the father of my child, is gone. I press my face into the hospital pillow and weep until I can't breathe.

The door opens and Dmitri's voice fills the room. "What the hell did you do to her, Maxsim?"

"I didn't do anything!" Maxsim protests. "She just asked about?—"

"About Anton," I finish through my tears, lifting my head to look at Dmitri. His usually playful face is drawn with exhaustion and grief. "He's really gone, isn't he?"

Dmitri approaches my bed slowly, like he's afraid I might shatter completely. "Lena?—"

"The baby." The words tumble out before I can stop them. "Is the baby okay?"

Something shifts in Dmitri's expression. Despite everything, a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "The doctors say my nephew is his father's son. Stubborn as hell and refusing to give up."

The confirmation that I'm still pregnant should bring relief, but instead it makes me cry harder. Our baby will never know his father. Will never feel those strong arms holding him, never hear that deep voice reading bedtime stories.

Dmitri sits on the edge of my bed and pulls me into his arms, letting me soak his shirt with tears. "I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."

"What am I supposed to do now?" I whisper against his chest. "How am I supposed to live without him?"

"You live because he would want you to. You live for that baby. You live because?—"

The door bursts open, cutting off his words. A doctor in scrubs rushes in, his face flushed with exertion.

"I need to speak with you about your husband."

I blink.

My husband?

Dmitri gives me a very subtle poke.

My husband.

He told them Anton was my husband.

But why?

What’s the point?

So I can claim his body?

A sob bubbles up at the thought of burying him.

I can’t.

I can’t do it.“Fuck you. Coward.”